Page 32 of Aim for Love

“I usually do.” Her warm breath against my lips is making me hard. I can’t stop it. My dick seems to think that a tent surrounded by other people is the perfect place to have sex. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Tomorrow will bring more complaints and a return to the real world, but right now that all seems far away. Mollie and I are in our own bubble, where nothing can reach us.

“It’s cold,” she murmurs, biting her lip. “Colder than I expected.”

“Get in and turn over,” I whisper, trying to overcome her second-guessing.

She zips herself into her sleeping bag and turns her back to me so I can spoon her the best I can, still cocooned in my own bag. I long for the feel of her skin against mine. Instead, I restmy cheek on the cold, plastic-y lining. She kisses the hand that’s holding close to her chest.

When she bumps her butt into my groin, snuggling closer to me, even with the layers between us, I smile. I like the closeness of this tent and the quietness all around us. I even like that we can’t do much more than hold each other. This intimacy is more than I’m used to on a hiking trip. I could get used to it.

But I shouldn’t.

After a few minutes like that, and as I’m almost drowsy enough to sleep, she breaks the silence.

“How do people fall asleep out here?” she asks softly. “It’s so quiet.”

I snuffle against the back of her neck. “That’s one of the things people like about it.”

“No, I know…OK, please don’t judge me, but I usually have music or TV on when I fall asleep.”

Snorting, I snuggle her closer to me. “Does it help to think about all the animals out there living their lives, just beyond this tent? It’s like a wildlife soap opera out there.”

“Um, no. That doesn’t help me to think about animalsright outsideour flimsy tent,” she hisses.

“Do you need a distraction? I think we’ve established you’re very reward-motivated. Maybe I can help.”

She stills. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well,” I whisper, slowly easing the zipper on her sleeping bag open. “Is this too cold?”

She shakes her head, the wisps of her hair brushing against my nose.

It takes some quiet maneuvering, some muted grunting followed by checking in with each other that our limbs are in comfortable positions, until I can get my arm deep into her sleeping bag.

It’s hot inside, pressed close against her skin. My nose is up against her neck, under her hair, where despite the rigors of the day I still get the scent of coconut.

I wiggle my hand down toward her core, Mollie shifting her body around to help me get there. I don’t need the help; I memorized the map of her the other day. It’s forever stored in my mind—the curve of her hip and the feel of the soft tuft of hair along her pussy filed with important things like the best route to summit Mt. Sneffels and how to change a tire.

My hand traces the route now, in the darkness of the tent, finding its way to where she’s already wet for me. I listen to her short breaths and can feel her chest moving under my arm. “I bet you’re not thinking about the wildlife now,” I murmur into the shell of her ear, causing her to emit a slight gasp. A bear could pass right outside our tent and so long as it didn’t stick its nose inside, neither of us would care.

We’re both silent, only the slide back and forth of my shirt on the vinyl material of her sleeping bag hinting at the thrusting I’d like to be doing. I’m so hard, she may be able to feel me poking her in the back despite the double padding between us.

I’ve never had sex in a tent before. I can smell the arousal, trapped in this close space with us.

Kissing her neck, biting a little, whining softly against her skin, I rub her little nub of nerves and flex and bend my fingers so that I can reach into her. Her tiny gasps are muted, an attempt to keep this between us, and I love that. As much as I love hearing her loudly moan for me, I love hearing her keep us quiet too. I want it all with Mollie.

Desperately, I want her hands on me right now, but this is so good too. I can taste the way the skin of her neck is growing hotter. I can feel her clit swelling. Her breasts are heaving against my arm.

When she comes, she goes rigid and then collapses against me. I carefully pull my hand back out of her pants and her sleeping bag, shaking off the tightness. Instead of bringing my fingers to my mouth, I roll onto my back and shove my hand down my own sleeping bag, using the slickness of my hand to try to bring myself some relief.

Mollie, cocooned in her bag, huffs as she rolls over. Once her chin is tucked between my neck and shoulder, she whispers, “Let me do that.” And shoves her hand down my front.

“Fuck,” I hiss—too loudly. I try to remember who our nearest neighbor is, and then I’m distracted by Mollie’s soft, cold hand around my dick. She runs her fingers up and down my shaft, then around the hair at the base. She grasps me, taking the weight of me in her hand. Then she does it again.

She’s mapping me, I realize. The way I did her. She’s taking time to learn my body, and I give her what she needs: I softly respond to her exploration, releasing huffs of breath when her curious fingers go somewhere I particularly like. I close my eyes and let her feel her way, using her hand to tug and swirl, running a finger over the sensitive head, making me swell even further in my pants.

It doesn’t take long.

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